House of Dreams
by MercyMagnum
Summary: Creed is reeling after the events on the Island. He is on the hunt for somewhere to lie low and plan his vengeance. Not your typical Victor Creed story. Creed/OC
1. Chapter 1

It irritated him.

The way they ran. Why couldn't they just face it, why couldn't they be strong?

It irritated him that he was compelled to chase. Every muscle and tendon in his body hurtling him into the hunt.

It wasn't as though they could get away, so why not be brave with the few moments they had left? They were so _weak._

This one was particularly vile. The man had blubbered, actually blubbered, begging and snorting with fear. When he leaned over the man the _stench _of it was so strong it shoved up his nostrils and made him jerk his head back. Fear was his bane. He craved that scent. He thrived on it. He hated it.

The man wasn't conscious by the time he shredded him open from throat to stomach, he had fainted.

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"God jessuswow!" She grunted as she hoisted her grocery bags into the back of the car. Who knew lettuce and some cans of black beans could weigh so much? She stood for a minute, feeling her heart speeding then slowing against her ribs. The cancer may have been knocked back for a time but it had done its damage. Lifting even light things for a prolonged period was like running a marathon.

Shutting the back she walked gingerly around the vehicle and climbed in. The autumn air was biting and she shoved her hands under her legs while the car warmed up.

The ringing of her mobile phone gave her a start and she scrambled to find it in the disaster that was her purse.

"Hello?"

"Beth its Janet. We're going to need you to come into work a three hours earlier today, can you manage that?" The voice of her office supervisor wasn't an entirely welcome sound in her ear.

"Well I have some groceries I'll need to run home. I'll get there as soon as I can."

"Great, fantastic." _Click._

"You're _so_ welcome," Beth said into the disconnected line.

So much for her semi-relaxed day. She put the car in drive and started back to her home.


	2. Chapter 2

He walked noiselessly through the bare aspens and thick firs. The scent of them swirled into the cool air every time his shoulder brushed against one of the branches. This city was so spread out, entire park-like spaces weaved for miles among the metropolitan. He'd left the blubbering man to make a nice red patch on the russet leaves.

It had been like this ever since he'd finally caught up to that Gambit dipshit.

Catching the kid had been disappointingly easy, just like it was the first time. The little Cajun might be able to throw stuff around and act the badass but once you got him on the ground he was putty. It didn't take even two minutes to find out what had happened on the Island after he'd leapt off the tower and made a swift exit.

Stryker'd shot Jimmy in the head, and now he had no memories. Not one damned memory.

That had bushwhacked him. He'd actually let go of the kid and fell back on his haunches, hands thudding to the ground at his sides. He didn't even care that the kid escaped.

He'd sat there for a good few moments in utter shock before the rage came. It had _flooded, boiled._ And he'd needed to kill something. So he did. And he hadn't really stopped since. He'd moved across so many state lines he wasn't even sure where he was, but it was definitely north. He wasn't sure now how many weeks it had been. The rage had settled in, simmering and resolute. After gutting that blubbering fool he'd decided that was enough. It wasn't helping anyway.

He stopped in a slight glade, listening to the sounds; the tiny scurrying of critters in the leaves and trees, the faint noise of cars whirring over blacktop some miles away in a busy part of the city.

The haze in his head was clearing a bit in the crisp clean air. He felt his lips stretch over his teeth. He'd always liked the forest. It was good to him.

He needed to lay low. Stryker would be sending people out to look for him, not that it mattered, they wouldn't find him. But he needed to get to Stryker. And that would take some planning.

He began walking again, his breath trailing out in a mist behind him as evening descended.

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She drove in the driveway and cut the engine. Climbing out she trudged around back and had the door open before she realized that something wasn't right.

Sadie hadn't come out to greet her.

The lab-something cross always bounded out and bounced around her feet when she came home. The day had grown considerably cold and she whirled around, responding to a sudden need to see what was behind her.

Nothing. Just the empty drive stretching out through the trees.

She grabbed the bags and struggled to get the door closed without dropping them. Walking around the car she looked over to the shed where Sadie's dog house was. Everything was still and quiet.

"Sadie?" She called, not too loudly into the gathering dusk.

She was at the bottom porch step when heard it. _Thud….thud…thud._

Her spine felt like it was shortening and every hair began to stand on end. She half stumbled half jumped up the steps and dug in her pocket for the keys, the bags sliding down her arms.

"I saw the sign on the road."

She nearly fell over when a rumbling voice came from the other side of the porch. She did drop the bags and the keys.

There was a man, a big silhouette sitting in the old willow deck chair off in the corner, his booted feet up on the railing, one knocking against the pillar. _Thud…thud._

She stared, stunned.

He pulled his feet off the rail and set them down on the dry grey wood of the porch, leaning forward in the chair.

"The 'room for rent' sign." He offered, again, the voice issuing from someplace in the shadows.

"I…yes. Of course." She said finally. The room for rent. She'd put that sign up ages ago, hardly expecting anyone to apply. She could use the money, doctor bills sadly, didn't pay themselves.

"It will be $500 a month, washing facilities on premises, obviously. I'll require a down payment for sec-

"How much?" he interrupted."

She was silent a moment. "$700."

"You'll have cash."

She blinked. She didn't know this man…what if he was some sort of…robber? He did just offer her cash. She needed the money.

"That's settled then, Mr….?"

The man stood up then and she was vaguely aware of a memory - Long ago on vacation with her father, in the woods they'd stumbled upon a bear that was foraging in the shrubs. The bear had slowly reared up on his hind legs, looking down at them with shining dark eyes. The feeling she'd had then bloomed in her now. The man was covered by a long dark wool coat, his head nearly brushed the roof of the porch and he closed the distance between them in two steps. He moved into the light near the steps, hands placed deep in the pockets of his coat. She hadn't realized she taken a step back until her foot bumped one of the grocery bags.

"Creed."


	3. Chapter 3

He had to hand it to the frail, grown men had been known to piss themselves when he stretched out to his full height.

She'd merely blinked and swallowed slightly. Although, he was _trying_ to tone down the intimidation factor, he didn't want this lady running off into the woods shrieking about mutants and muggers. He needed her. Or rather, her house.

She'd opened the door with only a slight rattle and held it for him as he dipped his head to walk through. He was glad to see the ceilings where high, those damn Victorians knew how to build a house. She'd stepped gingerly across the large rugs on the floor and disappeared into what smelled like the kitchen.

He stood in the entry way. There was a clock ticking somewhere. He turned in a half circle, looking at the stairs that wound up and to the left. He could smell dust and sweet potatoes and something…medicinal. After a few moments he realized what he _didn't_ smell. **Fear**. Apprehension yes slightly, and there was curiosity, but no fear. He supposed that was beneficial, but it irritated him.

The frail appeared in the kitchen doorway, sans the bags she'd had in tow earlier.

"Right, I'll show you the room. It is just up the stairs, it has its own entry, another stairway from the back of the house." She spoke over her shoulder to him as they moved up the stairs. He noticed her tentative way of walking and her hand gripping the rail.

"It has its own bathroom and even a small refrigerator." She continued as they reached the landing and opened a tall wooden door to a spacious room with an east facing window.

"Feel free to use the kitchen whenever you wish just…" she paused, looking down, he followed her gaze to where his hand rested on the doorknob, wicked claws luminescent in the dim light. He tensed, ready to shut her up if she started screaming, but she just blinked and continued, moving her gaze to someplace near the window.

"Just, clean up after yourself please. Rent will be due the first of each month." She nodded at the last, her eyes flicking up to him then to the door. She began to walk off then turned.

"By the way, have you seen a d-

"Under the porch." He turned in the doorway, looking her square in the face, and grinned, knowing she could see the canines. "I think she was _trying _to guard your house but she was a bit, nervous."

The woman was doing her damndest not to gawk but it wasn't working.

"I need to go to work now." She mumbled after a moment. Taking a breath she continued.

"We'll settle up when I get back in the morning." With that she turned on her heel and disappeared down the stairs.

After her car had left the driveway he wasted no time finding and emptying the refrigerator. Granted, she didn't have very much food but he found every bit of protein he could and inhaled it. He chuckled into the silence as he wandered around the house. The frail actually left him in her home, completely unhampered. How stupid.

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"Stupid, stupid!" She squeezed the steering wheel as she sped down the streets. He could take everything, he could wreck the place and now there wasn't a thing she could do about it. She couldn't call the police since he hadn't actually done a thing and she had invited him in. It was either stay or lose her job and she couldn't do that.

Taking three deep breaths she forced herself to be calm, to remember reason. And not to judge.

She blinked, recalling the way those…claws, had looked wrapped around the doorknob. And the teeth. She supposed he must be a mutant. She'd never actually met one but heard about them from other people often enough.

It really was immensely foolish, with a great possibility for disaster to leave a stranger in her home. But her options were rather miniscule.

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It was just after dawn when she pulled into the driveway. Work had been tiring, as it always was these days. She sat in the rapidly cooling car for a while, watching the quiet, grey front of her house. It was where she grew up, and she hated that she'd let it fall in to disrepair. It had been such a beautiful thing once.

Everything would be fine. Mr. Creed would give her $700 dollars and then $500 each month, she could pay off her bills far sooner than she could have before. Perhaps he would even help her with a few repairs if she paid him. He seemed capable, certainly broad enough. She blinked and stared at the steering wheel.

Sadie was still cowering under the porch when she called her, but with a bit of coaxing she came out, every hackle raised and trembling. Had he hurt her? She ran her hands through the dog's coat and checked for wounds. There were none.

It was the first time she'd ever entered her own home with a bit of trepidation. Knowing someone else was there was just so…odd. She'd always been alone here. She wandered from room to room. Everything was quiet and intact. She went into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

It was almost entirely empty.

She yanked open the freezer. All the steaks and the frozen chicken were gone. She stood there, shaking her head as the cold wafted around her. Slamming it shut and turning around she paused when something on the table caught her eye.

There were nine one hundred dollar bills sitting in a neat stack on the dark wood. She picked them up gingerly and was instantly ashamed of her assumption that her new renter was a greedy pig who ate other people's food and then ran off.

And so it went for several days. She never saw Mr. Creed. She could hear him though, stomping around up there, the floor boards protesting under his weight. It sounded as though he was pacing. Even in the night he wasn't quiet. She would lie awake and listen to the muffled growls and shouts, the sound of nightmares.

On the fourth night of no sleep she made her way up the stairs, the moonlight shafting through the windows and paused outside his door, hand hovering above the doorknob. She almost opened it when the noise suddenly stopped. Then she heard breathing, deep and ragged almost like it was right in her ear, and a shadow crossed under the door. She moved back, and retreated down the stairs. She sat awake on her own bed for hours, feeling as though she should _do _something. But how could you save someone from their nightmares?

In the morning she shuffled into the kitchen, eyes still bleary, and started fumbling with the coffee maker. It took her almost three minutes to realize he was sitting at the table. She managed not to gasp when she turned around but it was an effort.

"Good Morning." She said, opening the refrigerator to grab some oranges.

"Is it?" His voice startled her, she had forgotten the timber of it, rough and rich.

She turned again and set the oranges on the cutting board. She also realized she's never seen him in proper light.

His hair was short and dark, it would be wavy if it were longer. His face was framed by overgrown sideburns that ran down along his jaw. His eyes were dark as well but in the early morning light there was a blue shade glinting in them somewhere. The lips were slender and sculpted. His hands were nowhere to be seen, shoved someplace deep into the same dark coat he'd wore on that night on the porch.

"It is. Any morning that I get to eat oranges is a good morning." She stated simply. Something about this man told her it wouldn't be beneficial to be anything other than honest.

"Thank you by the way." She continued.

His eyebrows went up in twin archs.

"For the money. It was appreciated."

He let out a sound that was someplace between a snort and a growl, and _sneered_. His lip pulled up to expose a startling, jutting canine. She was stunned by the force of the contempt suddenly in his eyes.

"Thought I wouldn't pay my way, huh?"

"Some people wouldn't." She replied, meeting his gaze even though it was nearly a physical blow to do so.

"I'm not some _people_, frail." His hands appeared, folding casually in front of him on the table. A clear statement. She didn't even try not to stare. He wanted her to look. Where nails would be on a person there were thick tapered claws jutting from large fingers.

"Obviously. And its Beth." She turned, a deliberate show of her back and began slicing the oranges. It felt like turning your back on a tiger. But fear hadn't been in her vocabulary for a year; there was no point in it.


	4. Chapter 4

She'd done it with such ease. No one turned their back on him. If they did it was because they were running for their pathetic life. She just stood there, in pajamas.

His mind and senses shifted up a gear as he sat watching her back. A tiny back.

What was her game? She wasn't a mutant, he could usually sense them. No glowing light around them or weird voices telling him their secrets or shit like that. They were just off somehow. And they smelled wrong. There was something off about her as well, that smell he'd gotten when he first stepped into the house. Medicine and a tang of decay.

Then she offered him an orange. A fucking orange.

He felt it, the anger, like someone cut a gas line and was about to strike a match. He considered picking the table up and throwing it through the window. Considered it for quite a few seconds. Maybe rip the cupboards off the wall.

No. Not now, it could ruin his plans. So he took the rage by the scruff and shoved it down like a bitch.

"Sure, I'll have an orange." His voice was intentionally calm when he answered her. If she was surprised it didn't read in her stance.

Her stance. _T__here _it was, the thing that had been pricking his mind. Her stance. She seemed solid even though she looked brittle. Body language. Humans, mutants, they had no idea how much they blabbed about themselves with their body language. Her back was tiny, as were her hands when she turned with two small plates filled with sliced oranges. She should have seemed fragile, but there was a weight to her instead.

He looked down at the little plate of bright tender oranges. He should have just killed her on the porch that first night. And the stupid dog.


End file.
